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CHEERFUL CHILDREN 

* 




























































































* 









CHEERFUL CHILDREN 


BY 

EDMUND VANCE COOKE 

AUTHOR OF “CHRONICLES OF THE LITTLE TOT,” 
“IMPERTINENT POEMS,” “i RULE THE HOUSE,” 
“RIMES TO BE READ,” ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED BY MAE HERRICK SCANNELL 



> > 

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9 

ft 


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BECKLEY-CARDY COMPANY 

CHICAGO 






COPYRIGHT, 1897, 1903, BY EDMUND VANCE COOKE 
COPYRIGHT, 1905, 1907, 1910, 1913, BY DODGE PUBLISHING CO. 
COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY BECKLEY-CARDY COMPANY 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


DEC 26 *23 

©C1A7C5448 




FOREWORD 


The verses in this primary reader are selected from 
the volumes of Edmund Vance Cooke, with a few poems 
added, which have not before been between covers. 

It has been abundantly proved that school children 
are fond of hearing these poems and the opportunity 
is now offered for the poems to be read as part of the 
school work. 

Not all of these verses are in strictly proper English, 
for sometimes the childish pronunciation or locution has 
been followed as in “The Sin of the Coppenter-Man,” 
“Lest Ye Be Judged,’’ and others. “Almotht Theven” 
has been included as sufficiently amusing and interest¬ 
ing to the child to warrant the forbidding appearance 
of the printed reproduction of a childish lisp. 

Perhaps it is as well to recognize that children are 
aware, from early life, that there is another English 
than the somewhat prim language of the schoolroom. 
So why should they not be taught, equally early, to dis¬ 
tinguish (in some degree) between the intelligent use 
of unorthodox English to give a flavor to literature and 
that use which merely is the mark of carelessness and 
ignorance ? 


5 


The refrain of “The Monkey Man” may be used to 
illustrate the importance of rhythm, pointing out how 
the “words” which really say nothing at all yet manage 
to convey the joy of the child by the rollicking rhythm. 
In “Leopold,” it may be worth noting that the entire 
story is rhymed on the one sound throughout. In gen¬ 
eral, however, it is the intention that the verses be read 
for whatever pure joy there is in them. 


6 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

The Moo-Cow-Moo. 11 

The Elephant Ship. 14 

At Dark . 16 

At Dawn . 17 

Sonny Boy . 18 

The Cooky Moon. 19 

The High Giraffe. 22 

Table Talk. 25 

Mrs. Santa Claus. 28 

Two Little Serving Men. 31 

Grandmother’s Song. 33 

Cradle Song. 35 

Babykin-Boykin-Boo!. 36 

Whiny and Shiny. 38 

A Circus Every Day. 41 

The Horrible Examples. 44 

The Sin of the Coppenter-Man. 47 

Spindle, Spraddle and Spud. 51 

The Cruise of the Good Ship Little Tot. 54 

Leopold. 56 

7 






















PAGE 

Talk . 59 

Mr. Jack-O’-Lantern. 62 

The Snuggybud. 66 

Weeny Wee Bear. 69 

“Lest Ye Be Judged”. 73 

“Almotht Theven” . 76 

Let It Heal. 78 

The Shave Store. 80 

Santy’s Little Boy. 83 

The Song of the Socks and Shoes. 85 

The Monkey Man. 88 


8 













CHEERFUL 

CHILDREN 













































































































































































THE MOO-COW-MOO 


My pa held me up to the moo-cow-moo 
So close I could almost touch, 

And I fed him a couple of times, or two, 
And I wasn’t a ’fraid-cat—much. 

But if my papa goes into the house, 

And Mamma, she goes in, too, 

I just keep still like a little mouse, 

For the moo-cow-moo might moo! 

The moo-cow-moo’s got a tail like a rope 
And it’s raveled down where it grows, 

And it’s just like feeling a piece of soap 
All over the moo-cow’s nose. 

And the moo-cow-moo has lots of fun 
Just swinging his tail about; 

And he opens his mouth and then I run— 
’Cause that’s where the moo comes out. 


11 
























And the moo-cow-moo’s got deers on his head 
And his eyes stick out of their place, 

And the nose of the moo-cow-moo is spread 
All over the end of his face. 

And his feet are nothing but finger-nails 
And his mamma don’t keep ’em cut; 

And he gives folks milk in water pails, 

If he don’t keep his handles shut. 

’Cause if you or me pulls the handles, why 
The moo-cow-moo says it hurts; 

But the hired man he sits down close by 
And squirts and squirts and squirts. 


13 


THE ELEPHANT SHIP 

Oh, the elephant looks like a big balloon 
And his tough skin never will tear, 

So we’ll blow in his trunk and pretty soon 
He’ll be all filled up with air. 

Oh! oh! 

Take a big breath and blow! 

For if we blow up the elephant’s hide, 
Maybe he’ll give us an airship ride. 

And then, when the air is heated through, 
He can do the funniest things. 

Perhaps he can fly, like the birdies do, 

If he flaps his ears like wings. 

My! my! 

Won’t it be fun to fly! 

For if we blow up the elephant’s hide, 
Maybe he’ll give us an airship ride. 

14 



And then, when the elephant lets us ride, 
We never will use a goad, 

For if we should prick the elephant’s hide, 
Why, the elephant might explode! 

Oo—oo! 

I’m sure that never would do, 

For if we should prick the elephant’s hide, 
We’d never come back from the airship ride. 


15 




AT DARK 

As I lay me down to sleep, 

I pray my slumber may be deep, 

That I may rise when night is gone 
And gladly greet the smiling dawn. 

So may I rise refreshed and strong 
To do the right and shun the wrong; 
Thus I pray my sleep be blest 
As I lay me down to rest. 


16 

































AT DAWN 

Another day and I arise 

And look up to the morning skies. 

And if the day be fair and bright, 
Oh, let my face reflect its light! 
For what am I that I should whine 
When all the world is fair and fine? 

But if the skies be dark, I pray 
That I be better than the day; 

Oh, let all outer gloom depart, 

Nor chill the weather of my heart! 


17 























SONNY BOY 


Sonny boy, sonny boy, have you 
heard the news? 

All the world is wide awake and 
putting on its shoes! 

The sun is like a golden bug a- 
crawling up the sky; 


Come! get up and wash your face 
and hang it out to dry. 


















THE COOKY MOON 

The cooky moon hangs in the evening 
sky, 

All sugary, round, and sweet; 

I suppose it was hung up there so high, 

So no one would get it to eat. 

But still there’s a way to get a bite 
For good little girls and boys, 

If only they go to sleep at night 
Without any fuss or noise. 

So close one peeper and shut one eye 
So that we ’ll reach it soon. 

All the babies from By-lo-by, 

All the darlings of Drowsy-eye, 

From Nap-on-a-lap and Sleepy-sigh, 
On pillows of clouds piled high, so 
high, 

They all come sailing across the sky 
To come to the cooky moon. 

19 
























And when it is gone, why the Moon-man 
takes 

And makes us another one; 

And it’s always bright on the days he bakes, 
For he cooks it in the sun. 

And then, when it’s sugary, shiny-bright, 
The good little children come, 

And they eat the cooky moon bite by bite, 
And every star is a crumb. 

So close one peeper and shut one eye, 
So that we’ll reach it soon. 

All the babies from By-lo-by, 

All the darlings of Drowsy-eye, 

From Nap-on-a-lap and Sleepy-sigh, 
On pillows of clouds piled high, so 
high, 

They all come sailing across the sky 
To come to the cooky moon. 


21 


THE HIGH GIRAEFE 


Oh, the high giraffe has a peaky-weaky head, 
And his body is stuck on stilts, 

With a spotty-wotty skin all over him 
spread, 

Like one of my grandma’s quilts; 

And he’s all down hill, like a slide-down rail, 
From his peaky-weaky head to his tweaky- 
weaky tail. 


So we’ll go sliding, sliding, 

Won’t it be fine and fun? 

So we’ll go riding, riding— 

Giddap! and make him run. 

Sliding, riding and gliding, 

All on a living rail, 

And to save us a bump at the very last 
jump, 

We’ll cling to his tweaky tail. 

22 







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Oh, the high giraffe is a bendy-wendy thing, 
A nri he’s made with a middle joint; 

So we’ll hang to his handle-horns and swing 
Right back to the starting-point; 

So it’s up we swing and it’s down we slide 
And it’s stick to the middle for a jolty- 
wolty ride. 

So we’ll go sliding, sliding, 

Won’t it be fine and fun? 

So we’ll go riding, riding— 

Giddap! and make him run. 

Sliding, riding and gliding, 

All on a living rail, 

And to save us a bump at the very last jump, 
We’ll cling to his^weaky tail. 


24 


TABLE TALK 


If, at table, you should cough 
Till your head comes almost off, 
I have sometimes heard it said, 
You might turn away your head 
Without being thought ill bred. 


“Please” is not considered rude 
When you pass your plate for food, 
And it very seldom ranks 
With the most ill-mannered pranks, 
If you take it back with “Thanks.” 


Yoti are not compelled to take 
Over half the jelly cake, 

And because the pie’s refused 
Do not fear to be abused; 
Force is very seldom used. 

25 




26 





































































Should your father or your mother 
Venture to address each other, 
Though you feel you might complain, 
It will not be thought profane 
If you manage to refrain. 

If you’ve work or play to do, 

You may leave when you are through, 
But “Excuse me,” when one rises 
Seldom shocks or scandalizes, 

Or occasions pained surprises. 

Manners' are of no avail 
To keep any one in jail. 

True politeness, calm and quiet, 

Very rarely causes riot. 

If you doubt me, children, try it. 


27 


MRS. SANTA CLAUS 


How on Earth did the fiction grow 
That Santa Claus is a man? Ho, ho! 

Santa Claus is a woman. There! 

I make the assertion fair and square 
And you may repeat it everywhere. 

How do I know that the thing is true? 

’Tis simple enough. I’ll leave it to you. 
Who knows what you want for Christmas? 
Say! 

Is it a man who goes away 

Right after breakfast and stays all day? 

Or is it a woman who’s always by 
With the light of love in her watching eye? 
Why, a Santa Claus man would bring white 
rats 

To a girl whose chief delight was cats, 

And books to a boy who wanted bats! 

28 



29 






























































And the Christmas stocking—can you dream 
That a man conceived that clever scheme? 
A man would have got a clumsy box 
And bothered with nails and screws and 
locks, 

Or, at the best, would have hung up socks. 

And then the name. Who ever heard 
Of a man named “Santy”? It’s absurd. 
But everyone knows how little folks name 
A dear friend “Auntie,” just the same 
As though they really had kinship’s claim. 

And so it happened that people came 
To think ’twas really her given name; 

And this, by a natural error, was 
Changed soon to “Santie” just because 
She was known as “Mrs. Auntie Claus.” 


30 


TWO LITTLE SERVING MEN 

Two little serving men have I, 

And one is strong and very spry. 

He loves to hammer, plane and saw, 

To write and sometimes, even draw. 

He takes my hat and hangs it up; 

He reaches down my drinking-cup; 

He winds my top, and throws my ball. 

I couldn’t get along at all 
Without this little serving man 
Who helps me out in every plan. 

The other sympathizes, too, 

But is not half so quick to do. 

Some things he does quite well, but my! 
Some others he won’t even try. 

He will not split the kindling wood, 

And yet, he is so very good 
He holds it while the other chops. 

He also helps him wind my tops; 

31 


But spin them? He can’t spin at all. 

You ought to see him throw a ball! 

Just like a girl! and—it’s a shame, 

But he can hardly write his name. 

And yet, these serving men are twins, 

An ri look as like as two new pins. 

I think perhaps you’ll understand 

If you should know their name. It’s Hand, 

And one, you know, is Right and deft; 

And one, of course, is slow and Left. 

And yet, you know, I often find 
That if I’m calm with Left, and kind, 

He’ll do a lot of things, although 
He’s awkward and a little slow; 

And so I often think perhaps 
He’s much like me and other chaps, 

Who know enough to do our part, 

But some quick fellow, extra smart, 

Jumps in and does it first, and so 
We just get used to being slow. 

And that’s the way we don’t get trained, 
Because, perhaps we’re just left-brained! 


32 


GRANDMOTHER’S SONG 


(grandmother’s voice was always mild, 

And at everyday troubles she always smiled; 
For she used to say 
Frowns did n’t pay, 

As she had learned when a little child. 

So whenever we cried for a fancied wrong, 
Grandmother used to sing this song: 
“To-day, to-day, 

Let’s all be gay; 

To-morrow 
We may sorrow. 

My dear, don’t fret 
For what’s not yet, 

For you make a trouble double when you 
borrow.” 







Ah me! ’tis many a lonesome year 
Since grandmother’s song has reached my 
ear; 

And I sigh my sigh 
For the days gone by, 

For you went with them, grandmother dear. 
But I still have left your quaint old song, 
And that I shall sing and pass along: 
“To-day, to-day, 

Let’s all be gay; 

To-morrow 
We may sorrow. 

My dear, don’t fret 
For what’s not yet, 

For you make a trouble double when you 
borrow.” 


34 


CRADLE SONG 

(From the German of Hoffman von Fallersleben) 

To sleep the corn is sinking, 

For heavy hangs its head; 

The timid flowers are shrinking 
From darkness in their bed. 

And evening breezes flocking, 
Like little angels blest, 

Come softly, softly rocking 
The corn and flowers to rest. 

And, as the flowerets shrinking, 
So timid, too, art thou, 

And as the corn-heads sinking 
So nods thy dear head now. 

And sounds of evening, winging 
Like little angels blest, 

Come softly, softly singing 
My darling one to rest. 

35 


BABYKIN-BOYKIN-BOO! 


(A Nonsense Rhyme) 

Did the baskety woman a-sweeping the sky 
Discover the babykin there? 

Did she tumble him down from his nest on 
high 

Through all of the sky-blue air? 

Did she find there was never a room to spare 
In the toe of her sister’s shoe? 

Surely that was enough to scare 
The Babykin-Boykin-Boo! 


Did the Moon-man give him a half a crown 
And tell him he’d better be born? 

And with Jacky and Jill was he tumbled 
down 

One summery, shiny morn? 

Or did Babykin-Boykin come to town 
On the cow with the crumpled horn? 

36 


Did the Babykin lie on her back asleep 
On a mattress of genuine hair? 

And did Simon the Simple and Little Bopeep 
Come skipping along to the Fair? 

Did they blow a terrible, terrible blare 
On the horn of Little Boy Blue, 

To wake him up with an awful scare? 

Poor Babykin-Boykin Boo! 

But if Babykin-Boykin now will stay, 

We’ll feed him on victuals and drink, 

And the Muffety maiden will give him some 
whey 

And a pat of curds, I think. 

And the toes of the Banbury dame shall play, 
And her fingery bells go “chink,” 

And the hey-diddle cow shall jump in the air 
As high as she used to do. 

Oh, dear me! but she must not scare 
Our Babykin-Bovkin-Boo! 


37 



WHINY AND SHINY 

Whiny and Shiny are two little elves 

Who have a strange habit of swapping them¬ 
selves. 

Perhaps you are visiting Shiny, when, pop! 

Along comes old Whiny and tells you to 
stop. 

And you’re willing to stop, for, while Shiny 
is jolly, 

Poor Whiny is mad of a sad melancholy. 

Go ’way, Whiny! 

Come back, Shiny! 

Come hack, little Shiny, I see you there 
peeping 

From back of old Whiny. And Shiny comes 
leaping. 


38 








Gladsome and Badsome are certainly twins; 

But one of them quits where the other begins. 

When one of them peeps from a little boy’s 
face, 

The other one takes himself off of the place. 

Wherever the first is, the other can’t stay; 

If the second comes back, then the first runs 
away. 

Go ’way, Badsome! 

Come back, Gladsome! 

For Gladsome is just round the corner and 
hoping 

His owner will call him. And back he comes 
loping. 








Cheerful and Tearful are curious creatures; 

They are nothing alike, yet they have the 
same features. 

But Tearful’s a bad little imp who annoys 

The fathers of girls and the mothers of boys, 

For he blurs the bright eyes of the sunniest 
darling 

And frets a sweet voice till he gets it to 
snarling. 

Go ’way, Tearful! 

Come back, Cheerful! 

For Cheerful is brimming with music and 
laughter, 

And wherever he comes, sunshine follows 
him after. 


40 


A CIRCUS EVERY DAY 


Oh, what a circus a circus life must be, 
Parading every morning for admiring folks 
to see! 

Spangles, bangles everywhere, 

Prancing, dancing ponies there, 

Bands a-playing “Boom-ba-chink!” 

Folks hurrahing—only think! 

If it’s such a lark to see it, 

What fun it must be to be it! 

Oh, what a circus to know that every day 
You can be a circus at the ladies’ mati¬ 
nee, 

Hanging by your toes and knees 
On the flying high trapeze, 

Turning somersaults and things, 

Riding round the triple rings— 

If it’s such a treat to see it, 

What fun it must be to be it! 


41 



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Oh, what a circus a circus life must be! 

To have another circus in the evening after 
tea, 

Then to travel, oh, so far! 

In the “sacred heifer’s” car, 

While the engine goes “Whoot-choo!” 

At the hop-toad kangaroo, 

And the chimpanzee grows frantic 
At the ring-tail’s newest antic. 

Oh, what a circus a circus life — but say! 

It might not seem a circus if we had it every 
day, 

Every morning marching gayly; 

Afternoon performance daily; 

Every night another show 
And then have to travel so. 

Oh, it may be fun to see it, 

But think what a bore to he it! 


43 


THE HORRIBLE EXAMPLES 


Little Clara Cough-it-off felt very much 
abused 

And coughed to make her mamma think that 
she was badly used. 

She found it rather hard at first, but practice 
made it easy, 

Till she could cough as good as though she 
really were disease-y! 

She coughed against her medicine and said 
it made her sick; 

She coughed because they wouldn’t give her 
back the spoon to lick. 

She coughed until she had to cough and 
went “Cu-huh, cu-hoo!” 

When any one suggested that she tried to 
cough—like you. 

Little Tommie Try-to-cry had all the world 
could buy 


44 


And everything besides, except a good excuse 
to cry, 

And so he cried at breakfast-time, because 
it came so soon, 

He cried at luncheon also, because supper 
came at noon. 

He cried again at dinner-time, because it 
made him weep; 

He cried because his bed was bad and made 
him go to sleep. 

He cried because he cried, and crying made 
his eyes so dim; 

He cried because he saw you cry and thought 
you looked like him. 


Little Polly Pout-about was always finding 
fault; 

She didn’t like her milk, because the sea 
had too much salt. 

She didn’t like the sun, because it wouldn’t 
shine at night; 

She didn’t like the snow, because it made 
the ground so white. 

45 



She hated maple sugar, because lemons were 
so sweet; 

She hated custard pie, because the goldfish 
had no feet. 

She didn’t like bad little boys, because a hen 
has fur; 

She doesn’t like you either, as you some¬ 
times look like her. 


46 




















THE SIN OF THE COPPENTER-MAN 


The coppenter-man said a wicked word, 
When he hitted his thumb one day, 

And I know what it was, because I heard— 
And it’s something I dassent say. 

We live in a house with rooms inside, 

And the rooms are full of floors; 

It’s my papa’s house, and when it was huyed, 
It was nothing but just outdoors. 

And they planted stones in a hole for seeds, 
And that’s how the house began, 

But I bet the stones would have just growed 
weeds, 

Except for the coppenter-man. 

The coppenter-man’s got a face all black, 
With a bib sewed onto his pants, 

With pockets in front and round the back, 
And he makes a house grow like plants. 

47 


And the coppenter-man said a wicked word, 
When he hitted his thumb that day; 

And I know what it was, because I heard— 
And it’s something I dassent say. 


And then he took lots of window-holes, 
But he wouldn’t tell where he found ’em, 
And then he sawed out some sticks and poles, 
And he grew a house right round ’em. 


And the black on his face isn’t soft like fuzz, 
’Cause he rubbed his face on me, 

And it felt like the fur of a chestnut does 
When it just gets off the tree. 


And the coppenter-man took a board and said 
He’d skin it and make some curls, 

And he hung ’em onto my ears and head, 
And he made me look like girls. 

And he squinted along one side, he did, 
And he squinted the other side twice, 

48 







49 



























































And then he told me, “You squint it, kid,” 
’Cause the coppenter-man’s real nice. 

But the coppenter-man said a wicked word, 
When he hitted his thumb that day; 

He said it out loud, too, ’cause I heard— 
And it’s something I dassent say. 

But the coppenter-man said it wasn’t bad, 
When you hitted your thumb, kerspat! 
And there’d be no coppenter-men to be had, 
If it wasn’t for words like that. 

And if there wasn’t no coppenter-men, 
We’d all have to live in the barn, 

’Cause there wouldn’t be any houses, and 
then, 

Then what would we do—by darn! 
***** 

And the coppenter-man said a wicked word, 
When he hitted his thumb that day, 

And I know what it was, because I heard— 
And it’s something I dassent say! 

50 


SPINDLE, SPRADDLE AND SPUD 

Spindle is a sweeter child than any child 
can be; 

Spraddle is the sweetest on the land or on 
the sea; 

Spuddy is the sweetest little baby of the 
three; 

Each of them is sweet, because they all 
belong to me. 

Spindle, Spraddle and Spud. 


Peaches “loves a bushel,” as she clings about 
my neck; 

Pippin says she loves me more, she loves 
me “’most a peck”; 

Pocldy says she loves me just a “weeny, 
teeny speck”; 

And in the love of each of them is neither 
flaw nor fleck— 

In Peaches, Pippin and Pod. 

Wiggle is a lily of the garden on its toes; 

Waggle is a wild flower, the wildest one that 
grows; 

Wutkin is an orchid, with the freckles on 
its nose; 

And all of them together are a shamrock, I 
suppose! 

Wiggle, Waggle and Wut. 

Bubble is the sunlight, as it sets the morning 
free; 

Babble is the moonlight, as it shines upon 
the sea; 


52 


Buddy is the firelight, as it crackles in its 
glee; 

All of them are love-light to illume the life 
of me— 

Bubble, Babble and Bud. 

Ariel has bound me with a girdle round my 
heart; 

Cupid’s eye has glanced at me and pierced 
me with its dart; 

Puck has sure bewitched me with a wee and 
wily art; 

Famous folk are these, but each one has a 
counterpart 

In Spindle, Spraddle and Spud. 


53 


THE CRUISE OF THE GOOD SHIP 
LITTLE TOT 

Do you know the ocean called Nursery Floor? 
You think it a safe sea, like as not, 

But the Bug-Reef lies in a dangerous spot 
And the Table-Leg and the Open-Door 
Are perilous rocks for the “Little Tot”; 
Unbuoyed, unbelled and unmarked by a 
light 

To pilot the venturous mariner right. 

Yet the “Little Tot” bravely prepares to 
start, 

And weighing anchor at Papa’s knee, 

And pointing a course to take the lee 
Of Bedside Ledges, she studies her chart. 
And to Mamma’s Lap Harbor forth sails 
she. 

And it’s yo ho ho, and all hands stand by! 
And it ’s' steer by the light in the Harbor eye. 

54 


A lurch to port and a starboard list; 
Steady, there, steady; keep her straight! 
’Tis a terrible sea to navigate. 

A stagger, a plunge and a sudden twist; 

She is going aground as sure as fate! 

And Mamma’s Lap Harbor and Papa’s Knee 
Pull the good ship “Little Tot” out of the sea! 



55 



























LEOPOLD 


This is the story of Leopold, 

A man of the world just five years old, 

A little bit wise and a little bit bold, 

Who wanted a guinea of gold. 

Poor little, sad little five-year-old, 

Of woes of greediness never told, 

Too much charmed hy the gleamv gold, 
Wanted one piece “to have and to hold.” 

Papa might laugh and mamma might scold, 
Toys grow tarnished or gray with mold, 
Porridge be hot or porridge be cold, 

Little cared little Leopold. 

Out of the house the little boy strolled 
And round and round the blue eyes rolled, 
Always looking for gold, gold, gold. 

56 


Money was everywhere—wealth untold— 
Copper and silver and glistening gold, 
Greedily grasped and stingily doled, 
Cheated for, fought for, bought and sold. 

Across the counters it slid and rolled, 

And big steel safes looked cross and cold 
And stretched their arms to catch and hold, 
As a miser does, the gleamy gold. 

And who could have forced, or who cajoled 
One piece from their grasping, clasping hold? 

Tired, so tired, grew our five-year-old; 
(Gold-hunting feet should be harder soled) 
And the big church bell the death-knell tolled 
Of by-gone hours, till at last he strolled 
Into a street of a different mold, 

Where nothing was bought and nothing sold. 

Ho! sniffed sad little Leopold, 

As if to say that to search for gold 

In a place where none of it round him rolled 

Were foolish in a wise five-year-old. 

57 


He turned to go, when, lo and behold! 
Down at his feet in the .untrod mold 
Lay a bright guinea of gold, gold, gold! 
But no one ever has seen or told 
Of a satisfied searcher after gold; 

“I’ll look for some more!” cried Leopold. 

Now aren’t we all, like the five-year-old, 
After something gleamy as gold? 

And perhaps the prize we hope to hold 
Is down the street we haven’t strolled, 

So be a bit wise and a little bit bold, 

But don’t be greedy like Leopold! 


58 


TALK 

Here’s a lesson, little children, for all pupils 
over three, 

Including dad and mother, Uncle Ichabod 
and me, 

For although you think you manage so you 
neither slip nor balk, 

Yet the fact is very plain to all—you’ve 
never learned to talk! 

For I find that all who know you, even little 
Bud and Sis, 

Agree that quite too often 

.this. 

like 

up 

shrieks 

voice 

your 


59 


Great Ganders! little children, that is not the 
way to speak! 

Your voice is not a rusty hinge. You 
shouldn’t let it squeak. 

For, remember, I am listening and the way 
you squeal and squawk 

Will very likely be the way that I shall learn 
to talk. 

And another thing, I pray you! oh, beware 
the black abyss! 

For I have heard that sometimes you 
have 

growled 

it 

down 

like 



60 


this. 






A voice is not an aero, cutting capers in the 
skies, 

A voice is not a submarine to hurt and 
terrorize. 

No, it’s much more like an auto, as it skims 
along the ground 

And you can tell it’s working well by listen¬ 
ing to its sound, 

So keep it timed and tuned and let it neither 
knock nor miss 

And it will—burble—gently—on—its—even 
—way—like—this. 


61 


MR. JACK-O’-LANTERN 


Oh, Mr. Jack-O’-Lantern’s come to town! 

He’s the Halloween comedian and clown. 

Though he has but one expression, which is 
never more nor less, 

His annual engagement is a most distinct 
success; 

He plays the country all at once and every¬ 
where he is 

The gleeful children try to stretch a grin as 
broad as his, 

For every laugh’s a friend and every 
enemy’s a frown, 

When Mr. Jack-O’-Lantern comes to town. 


Oh, Mr. Jack-O’-Lantern’s come to town; 
He’s a gentleman of polish and renown. 

He never winks at ladies, which is good of 
him, I think, 


62 





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63 

































Though that may be because no lids are on 
his eyes to wink. 

He never pokes his nose in our affairs (and 
that’s no joke), 

Although the reason may be that he has no 
nose to poke. 

He never drinks to drown his cares. There 
are no cares to drown, 

When Mr. Jack-O’-Lantern comes to town. 

When Mr. Jack-O’-Lantern comes to town 

There are doings fore and aft and up and 
down. 

There are tick-tacks on the window, there 
are apples in the tub; 

There are strings upon the sidewalk waiting 
for a toe to stub; 

There are lovers in the kitchen toasting 
chestnuts in the dark, 

And the chestnuts and the lovers huddle 
closer, as they spark. 

The pumpkin-head’s our patron saint and 
folly is his crown, 

When Mr. Jack-O’-Lantern comes to town. 

64 


Oh, Mr. Jack-O’-Lantern’s leaving town. 

The oven turns his yellow face to brown. 

As he was so empty-headed, some folks said 
he was a dunce, 

But when we fed him candles, why, his face 
lit up at once! 

And now his light is sputtered out and 
Halloween is by, 

We scrape the tallow off his hide and bake 
him into pie. 

His mellow life is yielded up that we may 
smack it down, 

As Mr. Jack-O’-Lantern’s leaving town. 


65 


THE SNUGGYBUD 


The Snuggybud cried till he blistered his 
hide, 

For a Snuggybud peppers his tears, 

So he built him a trough which would carry 
them off 

By running them into his ears; 

But pray tell me why should a Snuggybud 
cry, 

No matter what sorrow he feels, 

When he’s cracking a fig on the top of his 
wig 

With a hammer he holds in his heels? 


Snuggybud, have you got an elbow on your 
knee? 

Snuggybud, can you cook a cup of coffee- 
tea? 

Snuggybud, Snuggybud, oh, dear me! 

66 


The Snuggybud stood on the top of a wood 
Till the water rolled over the tree, 

And he said “If I’m sick, I shall know pretty 
quick, 

For I ’ll take out my stomach to sea.” 

“Yes” the Snuggybud said, as he turned on 
his head, 

“I ate a most suitable supper, 

But I swallowed it up like a dog and a pup, 
And now I must swallow it upper.” 

Snuggybud, is the buzzard buzzing like a 
bee? 

Snuggybud, does the seesaw ever saw the 
sea? 

Snuggybud, Snuggybud, oh, dear me! 

The Snuggybud sat on his Sunday hat 
And gazed at the top of his head, 

While he polished his toes with the end of 
his nose 

And the blacking he used was red. 

But the Snuggybud’s shoes were twenty-twos 
And his nose was a number nine, 


67 


And liis brow was so wet with a winterv 
sweat 

That he never could polish a shine. 

Snuggybud, can you take a door and lock 
a key? 

Snuggybud, can you count up to X YZ? 
Snuggybud, Snuggybud, oh, dear me! 



68 

























WEENY WEE BEAR 

Once I told the baby boy a story— 

Not a tale of ancient fame and glory, 

Not of castles grim and battles gory, 

Yet he loved it well; 

Parted little lips drank in its treasure, 
Shining little eyes poured out their pleas¬ 
ure, 

Bubbling laughter overflowed its measure, 
As he heard me tell: 

“Once there was an awful bear I 
knew, 

Old He Bear, 

And his wife was just as awful, too, 
Old She Bear, 

And they had a baby, 

Much like you are, maybe, 

Darling little baby 
Wee Bear!” 


69 


Then I’d be the papa bear and send him 
To a corner where the sofa penned him, 
Just as though the angry bear had denned 
him, 

Hungry to the core, 

Till in terror, only half pretended, 

He would beg that “Papa Bear” be ended; 
Then, up to my ready arms ascended, 

“Tell me just once more 


’Bout the little boy ’at got in there 
At He Bear’s, 

And he went and sat down in the chair 
Of She Bear’s. 

And he ate the supper, 

Ate it up and upper, 

Of the teeny, weeny 
Wee Bear’s.” 


What a foolish, droolish little ditty, 

Neither quaintly wise, nor queerly witty, 
Neither sprightly bright, nor neatly pretty. 
Yet my heart is gray 

70 







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71 



























































































































































































































With the longing once again to hold him, 
Close within these aching arms to fold him, 
Once again to tell him, as I told him, 

In our childish play: 

“Once there was an awful bear I 
knew, 

Old He Bear, 

And his wife was just as awful, too, 
Old She Bear—” 

Yet they miss their baby, 

Much as I do, maybe, 

Little teeny, weeny 
Wee Bear.” 



72 





“LEST YE BE JUDGED” 


If mamma put out papa’s clo’es 
When he got out of bed, 

And if he didn’t like ’em, s’pose 
He’d like it, if I said, 

“Now, papa, don’t you dare to pout; 

You’ll catch it, if you do. 

Put on those clo’es or go without, 
Like mamma tells you to.” 


Supposing, when he went to wash, 

I kind of made a stamp 
And hollered, “Mind you, don’t you slosh 
And get it on your ‘gamp.’ 

You do what mamma tells you to, 

And we’ll excuse those tears, 

You better hurry and get through 
Or else I ’ll wash your ears.” 

73 



And dinner-time, s’pose I had et 
’Bout everything in sight 
And lots of things I wouldn’t let 
My papa have a bite, 

And then at pie-time, s’pose he’d ast 
To have just one more slice, 

S’pose I should tell him, “Don’t you dast! 
You know you’ve had it twice.” 

74 


















And s’posin’, when I spilled the ink 
And papa scolded good 
And asked me why I ivouldn’t think 
And everything he could, 

And when he’d talked an awful while, 
Supposing I should say, 

“Oh, papa, don’t be such a trial, 

Do run away and play.” 

Supposing he’d been good and had 
A penny for his pay, 

And then was just a iveenty bad, 
Supposing I should say, 

“Oh, papa, you’re just bad. No use 
To tell me what 3 r ou meant. 

You know that isn’t an excuse; 

You give me back that cent!” 


75 


“ALMOTHT THE YEN” 


“Children thould be theen, not heard;” 
Don’t athk me to thay a word, 

’Cauthe I’ve got a good excuthe, 

Tho there ithn’t any uthe. 

Papa thayth I’m thuth a lithper, 

He thould think that I would whithper, 
But that wouldn’t make it thtop, 

For I’ve lost my teeth up top. 

He thayth I won’t have thome more, 
’Till I buy thome at a thtore; 

Only babies teeth, thayth he, 

But I gueth he’th teathing me. 

Thomehow I can’t keep my breath, 

When I thay a “thee” or “eth,” 

For it getth away from me 
And I just thay “eth” and “thee.” 

76 



Papa thayth I needn’t wear 
Any mnth-thle anywhere, 

Nor to be chained up at night, 
’Cauth I got no teeth to bite. 

Papa thayth he’d pay good money 
Jutht to hear me talk tho funny, 
And he’d walk a country mile 
Jutht to kith me when I thmile. 


77 















LET IT HEAL 


Did. you ever cut your finger till it bled, bled, 
bled? 

And when the blood was washed away you 
saw, beneath the red, 

The white bone shining through, 

Saying grimly: “Howdy do? 

Perhaps you think it pleases me to get a 
glimpse of you; 

But were I to be consulted, I should say ’tis 
very clear 

I was better off, my dear, 

Before you demonstrated, with your knife, 
that I was here!” 


And did you bind your finger with a rag, rag, 
rag, 

Till it felt as big and bulky as a full flour- 
bag? 


78 


And in a day or two, 

Did you look at it anew 
To see the red lips grinning—grimly grin¬ 
ning—up at you, 

Saying: “Had I been consulted, I should say 
’t is very clear 
I was better off, my dear, 

Before you cut the clothes off me to see if I 
were here!” 

Did a comrade ever cut you to the heart, 
heart, heart, 

And did you find it helped you much to show 
you felt the smart? 

And while it yet was sore, 

Did it help you any more 
To tear it to the marrow and to strip it to 
the core? 

Had you listened to the telephone, which 
runs from heart to ear, 

You’d have heard: “’Tis very clear 
It is better for a grievance just to let it heal, 
my dear!” 


79 


THE SHAVE STORE 


Yesterday, papa says, “Will it behave, 

If I should take it while I get a shave?” 
And I says, “Yes,” as loud as I could talk, 

So me and he, we went out for a walk 
Clear to the Shave Store. And then I sat 
there 

And papa climbed up in a dentist’s chair 
And had a bib on. And the shave-man took 
And painted papa till he made him look 
Like frosting on an angel-cake. Mm! he 
looked nice! 

And I thought the man was going to cut a 
slice. 


He took a knife and wiped and wiped it, but 
He didn’t hurt my papa. He just cut 
The frosting off his face and took another 
80 



Knife and wiped it on a piece o’ luther 

And painted papa more, and cut and 
cut, 

And mussed his hair, and slapped his face 
and shut 

The old knife up. And washed his face, he 
did, 

Like papa washes mine sometimes, and calls 
me “Dirty kid.” 


81 























And he put baby powder on him, too, 

And smelled him up, and when he was all 
through, 

The shave-store man says “ ’Bye, young lady, 
when 

You want another shave, just call again!” 


82 



SANTY’S LITTLE BOY 

If I was Santy’s little boy, I’d dress 
Up in a polar-bear-skin suit, I guess; 

And then I’d have a great, big sled and go 
Sleigh-riding on a hill of sugar-snow, 

And have a snow-ball fight with popcorn 
balls, 

And have a reindeer horse, because he hauls 

83 





The Santy-sleigh, and have him painted red, 
So he’d look pretty, and just like my sled. 
If I was Santy’s little boy, he’d fix 
A house for me, made out of chocolate bricks 
With ice-cream plaster! And I’d have him 
make 

The floors of apple pie and angel cake; 

And then a fountain, squirting lemonade, 
And big enough to get into and wade; 

And raisin-trees outdoors, with fences ’round, 
Made out of candy-canes stuck in the ground. 

If I was Santy’s little boy, I bet 
I’d have a Christmas every day, and get 
Just lots of presents. And he’d plant a tree 
And ask my papa in, so he could see 
Me light it up, and then my mamma—ooh! 
I wouldn’t have her, then, nor papa, too! 

I guess—I guess I don’t think I’d enjoy 
A-being Santy Claus’s little boy. 


84 - 


THE SONG OF THE SOCKS AND SHOES 


The little pink pigs have been rooting 
around, 

Rooting around all night, 

Though I warned them well they must slum¬ 
ber sound 

Till the blink of the morning light; 

I warned them well, as the owner I gowned 

And snuggled them warm and tight. 

But though I told them they mustn’t peep 
out, 

The little pink pigs have been rooting about; 

I warned them one and I warned them ten, 

So now they must go in the sock-and-shoe 
pen, 

The pen of the sock and shoe. 

First the sock and then the shoe; it’s nearly 
eight o’clock! 

Lock the little pigs in the sock, 

85 



Shoo the little pigs in the shoe, 

Den the little pigs in the pen, 

The pen of the shoe and sock. 

The little pink pigs, with a wriggle and dive, 
All under the gown they run, 

While the owner watches me coax and drive, 
And giggles a gale at the fun, 

And squeals as I swoop on a drove of five 
And capture the five in one. 

86 








Oh, the little pink pigs have been rooting 
about, 

Though I warned them well they mustn’t 
peep out, 

So I capture five and I capture ten 

And drive them into the sock-and-shoe pen, 

The pen of the sock and shoe. 

First the sock and then the shoe, and then the 
shoe and sock; 

Lock the little pigs in the sock, 

Shoo the little pigs in the shoe, 

Den the little pigs in the pen, 

It’s almost eight o’clock! 


87 


THE MONKEY MAN 


The sun in winter goes away 
And makes you light the light, 

But in the summer-time it’s day 
All day until it’s night. 

So we just play until at last 
We don’t know what to do, 

And then the monkey man comes past 
And brings the monkey, too. 


M-double-unk for the monkey, 
M-double-an for the man, 

M-double-unk for the hunky monk, 

The monkey, hunky man. 

Ever since the world began, 

Children danced and children ran, 

When they saw the monkey man, 

The m-double-unky, hunky, monkey man. 

88 



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The monkey man has got a box 
And carries tunes to sell; 

He winds it like you wind up clocks 
Or like you wind a well; 

And when the music goes te-toot 
The monkey acts so funny 
That we all hurry up and scoot 
To get some monkey money. 


And it is just the funniest thing 
To watch him get his pay, 

And then his papa pulls the string 
And takes the cent away. 

I wish I was a monkey man 
And everywhere I went 
As soon as ever I began 
To play I got a cent! 


I wish I was a monkey, too, 
And wore such pretty clo’es, 
A coat and hat all red and blue 
And fingers on my toes. 

90 


He ran right up the porch one day, 

And then along the rail; 

I wish that I could climb that way, 

I wish I had a tail! 

M-double-unk for the monkey, 
M-double-an for the man, 

M-double-unk for the hunky monk, 

The monkey, hunky man. 

Ever since the world began 
Children danced and children ran 
When they saw the monkey man: 

The m-double-unky, hunky, monkey man. 



91 






























































































































































































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Edmund Vance Cooke’s Works 


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55 Fifth Ave., Neiv York City 


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Edmund Vance Cooke’s Works 


Published by Dodge Publishing Company 
55 Fifth Ave., New York City 


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